A Discovery
by Persiflage
Summary: Sam makes a discovery about Foyle, with Milner's unintentional help.


Title: A Discovery

Author: Persiflage_1

Characters/Pairings: Foyle/Sam, Milner

Rating: PG

Spoilers: The Russian House

Summary: Sam makes a discovery about Foyle, with Milner's unintentional help.

Disclaimer: Anthony Horowitz owns Foyle's War & its characters – I'm just playing with them!

Author Notes: This is a tag fic for 'The Russian House' – Foyle's comments to Milner about his rude behaviour to Sam made me sit up and take notice. (The initial dialogue comes from the episode.)

Thanks to dancesabove for beta-reading duties.

CF-SS-CF-SS

"Sir."

Foyle stopped and looked at Milner, chewing at the inside of his cheek.

"Thank you."

"Well, your first one, glad to be able to help." Foyle started to turn away.

"Sir. Perhaps I owe you an apology; that day at Redwood Lodge."

Foyle gave a slight nod, then looked away. "Well, frankly I'd say there's no 'perhaps' about it. You were rude, uncooperative," he looked back at Milner, "you defended a junior officer who was disrespectful, and to put the tin lid on it, you upset Sam. And I'd say that's a poor return for the five years we spent together. But if that's the way you want to handle yourself now you're in Brighton, that's entirely up to you."

"I'm sorry."

Foyle nodded. "I hope so." He walked away, leaving Milner feeling more like a raw recruit than a Detective Inspector, but he knew Foyle's reprimand had been justified.

CF-SS-CF-SS

Sam was just checking her shopping list to ensure she'd noted everything that she needed to get for Adam's guests who were due the following day, when there was a knock on the door. She knew they weren't expecting anybody to arrive today, but she thought that maybe someone was calling in on the off-chance that they had a vacancy.

She opened the door and was startled to find Milner on her doorstep. "Detective Inspector! I say, is everything all right? Mr Foyle's not – "

"No," he said hastily. "Mr Foyle is fine, as far as I'm aware."

"Oh. Well then, what is it?"

"Could I come in for a minute, please?"

"Oh, of course." She stepped back and held the door open wider for him. She wondered why he seemed ill at ease, given how very at ease he'd been at Redwood Lodge the other day.

"I came to apologise," Milner said.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? What for?"

He fidgeted with his hat. "I – I wasn't very friendly to you the other day, at Redwood Lodge." He twitched a shoulder. "It was my first big case since I was promoted," he explained. "And I know that's not an excuse for being rude, but it threw me, you being involved, and I wanted to make a good impression – you know, the competent new DI with his crime-solving prowess – " He broke off, looking even more awkward, and Sam had to fight back a smile. She quite understood, even if he had made her feel uncomfortable.

"That's all right, Paul," she said, smiling up at him. "I'll forgive you. Did you solve it?"

"I did – well, not really. Mr Foyle gave me some help – he was investigating another matter which coincided with Sir Leonard's murder."

Sam nodded. She knew what Foyle had been investigating; had even helped with it, in a way, but she refrained from telling Milner that.

"He let me make the arrest, though," Milner continued. "And then he scolded me for my rude behaviour." He shrugged. "I'd earned it. I think he was more annoyed that I'd upset you, than that I'd been uncooperative with him."

Sam started, surprised to hear that Mr Foyle had been annoyed with Milner for his manner towards her. "I trust you've straightened things out between you now?" she asked.

"Yes, we have. Anyway, I must go, but I just wanted to say sorry for my manner."

"It's quite all right," she said cheerfully. "Forget it, I will."

"Thank you." He shook her hand with his old warm smile, then put his hat back on and departed.

CF-SS-CF-SS

Sam was in a thoughtful mood as she began the long walk back to Adam's guesthouse, the shopping basket heavy on her arm. She was startled out of her reverie by a car horn tooting beside her, and she looked up to see Foyle pulling in alongside her.

"Hop in," he said, smiling at her through the open side window. "You look laden."

She grinned back at him. "Just a bit."

"Then let me give you a lift."

"Thanks."

He reached behind and opened the rear passenger door for her, and she hefted the basket inside, then climbed in after it.

"Where to?" Sam gave him the address of the guesthouse and he grunted. "I know the place." He pulled away into the traffic. "So you're living there now?"

"I'm helping Adam to run the place at the moment," she explained. "It only seems fair after he got shot. And I didn't have any reason to stay on at Redwood Lodge, after Sir Leonard – " She left that sentence hanging as she suppressed a shudder of horror at the memory of finding the older man dead.

"You all right, Sam?" asked Foyle, his tone gentle as he looked over his shoulder at her.

"Yes. Fine." She gave him a bright smile, but she could tell he didn't quite believe her.

He pulled up outside the guesthouse, and she started to climb out.

"Let me," he said, gesturing at the basket.

She almost refused, but then changed her mind and nodded. "Thanks, awfully."

She hurried to unlock the door and he followed her in, the basket on his arm and his hat in his free hand.

"The kitchen's this way." She led the way, then reached out to take the basket from him.

"Here?" he asked, gesturing at the table with his hat.

"Yes. It's jolly kind of you sir." He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she blushed at the reversion to old habits. "Sorry. Thank you, Mr Foyle."

"You're welcome," he said quietly.

"Would you – ? That is, are you in any particular rush, or would you care to stay for a spot of lunch?"

"I'm not in any particular rush, no," he said, smiling. "Lunch would be very nice, thank you."

To Sam's secret delight, he insisted on staying to assist her, instead of retiring to the dining room or the private sitting room; he removed his suit jacket and tie, then rolled up his shirt sleeves, and she had to keep herself from staring at his bare arms as he sliced the bread for her while she filled the kettle.

"How is Adam?" he asked.

"He's all right. They're keeping him under observation for a day or two to ensure the shoulder wound's not inflamed or infected. It's lucky Hill House isn't booked up this week, with Adam not being here, and me being so new."

Foyle made a noise in the back of his throat that Sam wasn't quite able to interpret, and she was reminded of his 'Hmms' and 'Mmms' when she'd been driving for him, which in turn reminded her of Milner's visit.

"Mr Milner came to see me earlier," she said, sitting down opposite him to start buttering the bread.

"Did he?"

She saw the way his eyes and attention focused on her, and she hid a smile. "He did."

"If he's been upsetting you again – " Foyle began.

"Not at all," she told him, smiling sunnily up at him. "Quite the opposite, in fact, as he came to apologise for his manner the other day at Redwood Lodge. Apparently someone took him to task about it." She glanced up at him under her lashes and saw him bite the inside of his cheek.

"I did," he said shortly. "He'd no business distressing you."

"It was very sweet of you to scold him," she said. "But he didn't upset me that much."

One eyebrow winged upward in the characteristic manner and Sam suddenly realised just how much she'd missed working with Christopher Foyle. He had the most expressive face she'd ever seen, and could convey so much with it, not needing to say a word.

"Whether he upset you a lot or a little isn't really relevant, Sam. He'd no call to bother you at all. You were a witness, and not a hostile one, either." He looked across the table at her, his blue eyes holding a good deal of warmth. "It must have been horrible for you, discovering Sir Leonard dead in his own home."

"Well, it wasn't pleasant, but luckily I've seen dead bodies before, so it could have been worse."

"Sam!"

She looked at him, surprised by the shocked tone in his voice. "Mr Foyle?"

"How can you consider it lucky that you've seen dead bodies before?" he demanded.

"Well I don't, exactly. I just meant that because I have seen dead bodies before, I was able to be quite calm and practical, rather than collapsing in hysterics or fainting dead away." She saw him take that in and digest it; watching his thought processes was something she'd always enjoyed in the past, and she found herself wishing again that he hadn't resigned from the police force. She would have liked to go on working with him.

"I see what you mean," he conceded. "Although I sincerely hope you never have to see another dead body again."

She smiled. "I won't argue with that."

CF-SS-CF-SS

They ate lunch in the kitchen, after Foyle refused to let her set the dining room table just for the two of them.

"I didn't accept your lunch invitation in order to make more work for you," he told her firmly.

"I've never considered you to be 'work'," she told him truthfully.

His eyebrow quirked again. "Not even when you had to drive me for miles on a case?" he asked, smirking a little.

"No. That was fun! I love driving."

He chuckled softly. "I did notice that, Sam." He took the cup of tea she passed him. "Do you miss it?"

"Oh absolutely!" she said immediately. "I miss the driving, and I miss the men, and – " She stopped, wondering if he'd become uncomfortable if she finished the sentence as she'd intended.

"And?" he asked.

"I miss you very much," she said quietly. "I miss the conversations, and your dry sense of humour, and the way you used to pretend to be annoyed by all my questions." She glanced up at him, feeling a bit shy at this admission.

He smiled and reached across the table to touch the back of her hand with his fingertips. "I miss you driving for me. Driving for myself is quite boring in comparison."

She tried to fight back a grin and failed. "Don't you mean it's quieter?" she asked.

He laughed. "It is, but I didn't dislike your questions and chatter."

"You hated it, at first," she protested.

He shook his head. "No. I admit that your comment that you were glad of the war sounded callous, until I realised that it had more to do with your frustration at being stuck at home, and your lack of experience; you weren't even born until the Great War was nearly over. Your behaviour during the course of that first case quickly taught me that you possessed a good deal of compassion and empathy with others. Your questions were a little distracting initially, but I soon grew used to them and grew to like them. After all, they showed how curious you were about everything, and that will always appeal to me." Sam felt herself blush at his words and glanced down at her plate.

"You were like a breath of fresh air, or a ray of sunshine, brightening the darkness of the war," Foyle continued. "And when you were sick – " He broke off and she looked across at him just in time to see a flash of pain in his eyes.

Impulsively she reached across the corner of the table to take his hand as it clenched into a fist. "We got through it, though, Christopher," she said, feeling very daring at using his given name.

He turned his hand over to clasp hers. "Yes – we did."

Sam felt a surge of excitement as he held her hand and she wondered if she were imagining the tender look in his eyes. She'd lived with her attraction to Christopher Foyle for so long now that she'd grown quite accustomed to hiding her feelings, but he didn't seem to be making any effort to hide his own.

"Christopher?"

"Yes Samantha?"

_Oh crikey! Why does him calling me 'Samantha' seem so much more significant than when he calls me 'Sam'?_ "Um, could I have my hand back, please?"

"Mmm." To her complete astonishment, he raised her hand and lightly kissed her knuckles before releasing it. She nervously dropped it into her lap and cradled it with her other hand.

She knew she'd gone bright red, and sought desperately for a neutral topic of conversation, but her flailing brain could come up with nothing.

"Well, well." Foyle's amused drawl drew her attention back to him, and she found he was watching her with a mirthful expression. "If only I'd realised sooner that was the way to silence you," he said.

"Christopher!"

"Yes, Samantha?"

Sam was still blushing, not least because his manner was so relaxed, which was making her feel even more flustered. "You couldn't have kissed me when I was working for you, it would've been very improper."

He smiled broadly. "You do realise, don't you, that you're implying it wouldn't be improper for me to kiss you now – now you're not working for me?"

She felt her jaw drop and snapped her mouth closed again. "I – I – " she said, flailing again. Perhaps, she thought wildly, she'd fallen asleep after lunch, and she was just dreaming that Christopher was sitting here, calmly discussing kissing her.

She made a snap decision: maybe she could fluster _him_ instead. "I'm not only implying, I'm giving you permission," she said, meeting his eyes with her boldest stare. She waited, holding her breath, for him to back off, for that reserved look to return to his face, but instead he smiled.

"Thank you, Samantha." He leaned across the corner of the table, lifted his right hand to cup her cheek, and then brushed his lips across hers.

Sam didn't think, she just leaned closer and reached out to hold his shoulder as she returned the pressure of his lips.

To her disappointment, Christopher pulled away shortly afterwards, and she looked at him, feeling dazed and alight.

"Do you have a sitting room?" he asked.

"Yes." She stood up and when he held out his hand, led him from the kitchen through to the private sitting room.

Sam closed the door firmly behind him, then led the way over to a large, comfortable sofa. She had no idea what had brought this on – although she was sure she could get Christopher to tell her shortly – nor any idea where it was going, but for the moment she didn't care.

They settled onto the sofa, sitting face to face in the middle. Christopher picked up her right hand and held it in both of his. "Dearest Samantha, would you be very shocked if I told you that I've been wanting to do that for five years?"

"Shocked?" repeated Sam. "No, I'm not – wait, five years?" He nodded. "But that's – " She stopped, uncertain whether she should continue.

"That's what?" he asked. He was stroking his thumb over her knuckles, and Sam was finding it quite distracting.

"That's longer than I've wanted to kiss you," she admitted, blushing.

He smiled. "Is it now?"

She nodded, then frowned. "I had no idea you felt that way about me," she observed with wonder.

"Of course not – as you said, it wasn't proper, not when you were in my employ and entrusted to my care. Your father was quite upset enough at the idea of you working for me as it was, without me making matters worse. Also – " He paused, and Sam gave him an expectant look.

"Also?"

"Well, there's the matter of the difference in our ages. I am old enough to be your father, and I thought that you wouldn't want to be stuck with an old man."

Sam cocked her head. "You said you 'thought'. Does that mean it's no longer what you think?"

He smiled and she felt her insides do their familiar swoop. "No, it's not."

"What changed your mind? I mean, what made you think that I might be interested in you, too, despite the age difference?"

"Well, for one thing, your relationships with younger men have all been rather short-lived, which made me think that you might find young men less interesting. And for another, you're no longer as adept at hiding your feelings."

Sam's eyes widened and she blushed. "Oh crikey!"

Foyle chuckled softly. "Don't worry, I don't think anyone else has actually noticed yet. But I've known you quite a few years now, long enough to be able to read your feelings fairly easily. When I saw you at Redwood Lodge, I realised that you still felt the same way about me, and since my feelings hadn't changed either, I dared to hope that if I approached you, you wouldn't turn me down."

Sam wondered if she was going to stop blushing at some point. "I couldn't do that," she said.

"Good." He leaned forward and skimmed a gentle kiss over her lips, prompting her to sigh softly. "All right?"

"Mmm." She hummed agreement in a dreamy tone.

Foyle kissed her again, more lingeringly this time, and Sam dared to lift her hand to hold the back of his head, rubbing one fingertip through the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. He seemed to appreciate this gesture, because he intensified the kiss. Sam felt a little light-headed as she registered that this was Mr Foyle, her former boss, kissing her; she'd dreamed of this moment often enough over the last few years, but the reality was far better than any dream she'd had. His lips were firm and supple, and he knew the exact amount of pressure to exert. She was vaguely aware of his arms slipping around her as she put her right arm around his neck as he deepened his kiss.

They eventually pulled apart to breathe, and Foyle rested his forehead against Sam's. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

She leaned back to look him in the eye. "Absolutely tickety-boo, Christopher," she answered, grinning irrepressibly at him.

His blue-grey eyes, more blue than grey today, were shining with delight. "Good." He grazed his lips across hers again. Then his expression became more serious. "Samantha, will you marry me?"

"Yes please!" she said eagerly. "When?"

Foyle chuckled. "Well, I think we'd better talk to your parents first. And provided your father agrees, sooner rather than later. My brother-in-law, Commander Howard, is working on getting me passage to America in August."

"So that you can go after Howard Paige?" Sam asked.

"Exactly. I want you to be able to come with me as my wife. Therefore, if your parents agree, I would suggest we get married at the beginning of August. Then we can give out we're going to America for our honeymoon."

"When do you want to go and see my parents?"

"When can you get away from here?" Foyle asked. "You are looking after the guesthouse for Adam, after all."

"I'll telephone the hospital and find out when he's going to be discharged." She pulled away from Foyle with reluctance, then went out into the hall where the telephone sat on a little side table.

She returned a few minutes later to find Foyle standing at the window, looking out at the rear garden. She walked across to him and smiled when he turned to smile at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Adam will be discharged some time tomorrow afternoon, so we could go to Lyminster the day after." She slipped an arm around his waist and sighed happily when he embraced her in return.

"Very well."

"Will you stay?" she asked hopefully.

"I'll stay and have dinner with you this evening," he said. His eyebrow arched up quizzically, as if he knew she was asking for more than that, but there was an understanding look in his eyes.

"Will you stay tonight? Please?" She bit her lip, her expression pleading with him as much as her voice.

He sighed. "I really don't think I should," he said quietly. He lifted his right hand and stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek, the expression in his eyes tender. "Don't mistake me, Sam, I do want to be with you – very much in fact." His low tone made her shiver with delight. "But I'm an old-fashioned sort of man, and I want our wedding night to be special."

Sam reached up to cup his cheek, then kissed him softly on the lips. "I do understand, Christopher."

"Good."

He guided her back to the sofa and they sat down again. Sam snuggled in close, delighted at having the freedom to touch and kiss Christopher as she had so yearned to all this time. The next few weeks were going to seem very long if she wasn't going to be able to spend the night with him until their wedding day, but she reasoned that she'd waited so many years that a few more weeks would only heighten the anticipation.

Even so, Sam was eager for August to come around.


End file.
